


Unconventional Methods (or "Therapist")

by karmascars



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Consensual Kink, Help, Light Bondage, M/M, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Rape Fantasy, Rimming, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmascars/pseuds/karmascars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is Jensen's psychiatrist. After months of listening to Jensen spell out his most intimate fantasy, and harboring an equal frustration, Jared decides to take matters into his own hands. Fill for a prompt over at LiveJournal's SPN Masquerade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconventional Methods (or "Therapist")

"...think it's mostly about control," Jensen's saying.

Jared hums a noncommittal reply. He's learned it's best not to use actual words when Jensen is in the middle of exploring a self-discovery. That way, he'll keep talking, and not require any intelligent input from Jared for the next little while.

It's not that Jared isn't paying attention. He definitely is. It's just not the kind of attention that a licensed psychiatrist ought to be paying to one of his clients.

Jensen wriggles lower in Jared's overstuffed clients' armchair and hikes one ankle up onto his knee. Jared can see a hint of argyle sock. Jensen adjusts his horn rim glasses and continues, "Most of the time, when I'm imagining this scenario, I'm face first on the ground, or wherever. There's a hand between my shoulder blades, shoving me down, while the other arm yanks up my hips 'til I'm straining on my knees. And the more I look at that, the more I'm seeing that it's not necessarily the manhandling I'm getting off on, but the lack of control. Being so completely at someone else's mercy."

He pauses there like he wants input, when Jared is still stuck on the image of Jensen trussed up tight with his bare ass high in the air, his delicate features being ground into the cheap shag carpet of some seventies stalker van. Jared is really very glad that he's behind a desk right now. "And how do you think that applies to your life, as it stands currently?" he manages to ask.

"I'm not sure," Jensen muses. "Things are all right at the office. None of my portfolios have plummeted recently, so I'm not feeling the urge to toss myself off a high-rise." He smirks at the bad joke, green eyes twinkling. "Nobody in the family has died, or anything. Really, I don't see any reason why I'm so fixated on something so negative."

"I don't hear you seeing it as negative, Jensen," Jared says, finally able to drag himself back to the session at hand. "All the control in your life is leading you to seek out some way to lose it. Despite rape being a universally terrible circumstance, in your mind it's a way to achieve what's otherwise lacking in your experiences."

"So, what do you suggest?" Jensen asks wryly. "That I go out and get myself raped?"

"I think you know the answer to that," Jared says with a smile that matches Jensen's tone, having just barely stamped down the urge to jump to his feet shouting, _"God, no!"_ "There are places in the city where one may acquire eccentric services, such as you may require, in a safe and clean environment."

"Pay to be raped?" Jensen's face screws up. "Are you even legally allowed to suggest such a thing?"

"I suggested nothing of the sort," Jared says calmly. "But you're obviously not amenable in any case."

Jensen snorts.

"Do you know or trust anyone well enough to entrust them with such a fantasy?" Jared asks. "The concept of a safe word --"

"You know very well there's no one," Jensen says stiffly. "Right, I think we're good here for today."

"You still have fifteen minutes left, Mister Ackles," Jared counters. "Tell me, when you have these fantasies, where are you?"

Confusion mars Jensen's features. "What do you mean?"

"Where is it that you usually fantasize?"

Jared's asking vaguely on purpose. He wonders how Jensen will answer; if he'll tell him where he pictures himself being overpowered, or where in his home or place of work he masturbates thinking about it.

"In a van, mostly." Ah, door number one. "One of those commercial panel vans, with the scratchy carpet. I get rug burn all up my face and it's," Jensen, despite having told Jared far worse things in their recent sessions together, blushes fiercely before continuing. "It's almost as good as the burn in my ass."

"You like it rough and out of control." How Jared manages to say such a dirty thing so clinically is beyond even him. "See how that provides a perfect counterpoint to the order in your life?"

Jensen nods.

"Now, this rapist: you said once that he blindfolds you, robs you of your sight. Does he gag you as well?"

"No," Jensen says. He sounds a little hoarse. Jared studiously avoids looking anywhere but his client's face. "He -- I usually have him telling me he likes to hear me scream."

Jared bites his tongue viciously to keep from shuddering.

Jensen's brow furrows, and Jared's heat skips a beat -- did he reveal himself? But no, the man has thought of something.

"You know how I said before, my hands get tired behind my back?" Jared nods. "Well, it's not always the same stuff being used. Like, one time it was a necktie, then it was zip ties, and one time it was that scratchy rope they use for boats. Tore my wrists up." Jensen absently rubs at one wrist below his shirt cuff. "Why do you think that is?"

Jared clears his throat before answering. "As you said with the rug burn, I believe it's about the synonymous pain. Sometimes, you want your wrists to be the focal point. Did you notice whether it was your face, or your --" _tight little ass_ "-- backside that gained the focus of your attention when a less intrusive tie was used?"

"Differs," Jensen says, blushing again. "Depends."

"On?" Jared prompts.

"On what I need," Jensen says, glancing away.

Jared shifts in his chair. _Oh, I know what you need._ "That's, uh, all the time we have," he says. "Between now and our next session, try changing up the fantasy. Instead of a van, maybe a trail in the park. Instead of a rope or zip ties, something else entirely. See what happens. And think about whether the position itself is imperative, or just the lack of control."

"I think --"

"Next time, Mister Ackles," Jared cuts him off with a smile. "Have a good week."

"You too, Doctor Padalecki."

Jared waits until he hears the buzzer for the office front door sound before fumbling for his zipper with a curse. There's a reason he schedules a half-hour period between Jensen's sessions and any others, and it's not to type up his notes or any of the other ridiculous reasons he feeds to his secretaries.

He tugs his cock out with a groan. One stroke and it's straining hard toward his belly, precome dripping down over his fingers. God, that man. Jensen had been about to tell him the position actually was important, like he's said many times before. Jensen _needs_ to be shoved down face-first and taken with his ass high in the air, exposed and vulnerable. He does it to himself with enormous rubber dongs, never quite managing to satisfy, and then comes to his appointments and tells Jared all about it.

Jared comes like a thunderclap, moaning through clenched teeth, spilling all over his fist and designer slacks. As he slouches there and pants through the afterglow, an idea begins to form.

Someone Jensen trusts...

The way the man's eyes burned when he said, "You know very well there's no one."

There might be one person.

One person who has a van to rent, rope to purchase, and a very odd date to plan.

\- - - - -

Jared sets up in an alley seven blocks from Jensen's upscale apartment, in the part of town that's seedier than the swank all around it would imply. He chooses this spot because it's isolated, a bit stereotypical for this sort of endeavor -- and because Jensen jogs past it every other evening at the same time, a detail Jared has inferred from both their sessions and some surreptitious stalking.

He could tell himself he's doing this to help Jensen heal, or figure himself out, something, but Jared knows that's utter bullshit.

What he's really doing is bringing to life the utter psychological mess he's had to listen to for the last few months, spewing as it was in sordid detail from the lips of the hottest man alive.

This whole thing is highly unethical. Jared just can't bring himself to care.

The world outside the van is mostly dark when Jared, sitting in the open back, hears quick footsteps approaching. He takes a deep breath, and stands. Stretches his back.

Then he darts out, grabs an unsuspecting Jensen in a headlock, and drags him to the van.

Jensen grunts, struggling, but Jared has four inches of height and several pounds of muscle on the shorter man. He yanks Jensen around by his neck and tosses him into the van, pulling the doors shut and shrouding them in darkness. Before Jensen can even get his bearings Jared is on him, yanking his head back with a palm to Jensen's forehead as he wraps a crude blindfold over those green eyes.

"What -- why are you doing this?" Jensen asks, his voice shaking. His whole body is quaking beneath Jared's hands as he's shoved around, arms pulled viciously behind his back.

Jared's invented a back story for this rapist, and he launches into his character's dialogue with a practiced accent and sneer. "I see you running, all the fucking time." He tugs on Jensen's arms, bowing the man's chest into the floorboard. "Pert little ass just begging to be fucked."

"I-I'm not --"

Jared smacks the back of Jensen's sweaty head. "Shut up," he growls, looping the nylon rope he'd bought into a simple binding pattern around Jensen's wrists. Jensen can get out of it if he really, really wants to, but with Jared planted all around him, hand between his shoulder blades and shoving him down into the carpet, Jensen probably isn't giving the knots much thought.

"You make me sick," Jared continues his ad-libbed tirade. "Flaunting what you've got, not a care in the world. Didn't think anyone would notice, huh?"

"Please," Jensen whispers, "no."

"Told you to shut up, didn't I?" Jared snaps, smacking Jensen's ass cheek hard through his thin running shorts. Jensen moans. "Mm, you sound so sweet," Jared goes on. "We're gonna see how sweet you scream when I'm fucking you, yeah?"

"Oh," Jensen says, "oh no, oh god --"

He sounds like he has no idea if he wants it or not, caught between his fantasy and the reality of rape. Jared would feel like an asshole if he didn't have a plan.

Grabbing Jensen's hips, Jared manhandles him into position, _the_ position, making sure he yanks the man's ass up as high as his knees will allow. Then higher. He doesn't miss the hitch in Jensen's panting.

"What I'm gonna do to this pretty ass of yours," he growls, tugging down Jensen's running shorts. He can't see too well in the dark of the van, but he can feel it, two toned globes filling each of Jared's hands, and he can smell the scent of sweat and musk and Jensen rising now that Jensen is exposed. Jared leans in, spreading him wide. The man's thighs quiver, trying to close, but Jared just tugs harder.

Jensen's panting vocally now, _huh-huh-huh_ with a bit of a whine in his voice, rising in volume and pitch as Jared lowers his face and lets his exhales strike Jensen's hole. "So pretty," he breathes, and licks a stripe right over the little furl. It clutches against his tongue.

Every muscle in Jensen's body locks up. "Ugh, god," he groans, "don't..."

Jared answers him with another lick, pointed this time, screwing down into Jensen's entrance. "All the lube you're gonna get, pretty boy," he growls into Jensen's skin. "Better let me slick you up, or this'll really hurt."

Jensen whimpers.

"Oh, what's that?" Jared mocks. He might be enjoying playing the bad guy a little too much. "You say you don't need the lube? You want three of my fingers just like this?"

"No, no, please," Jensen begs, "slick me up, don't do that, I don't," he hiccups, "don't wanna tear, please..."

"Oh, pretty," Jared groans, "the things you do to me." He buries his face in Jensen's ass, eating him out as sloppily as possible. He's well aware that any real rapist wouldn't bother with niceties like any slick at all, and certainly wouldn't care about his victim feeling good -- but Jared does, and Jared will. Plus, extremely bright side, his tongue is currently buried in Jensen Ackles' gorgeous ass.

And Jensen is loving it, apparently, despite what sounds like a Herculean effort to the contrary. He's trying to sound frustrated, pained, but Jared realizes that Jensen's hips are squirming  _ into _ his face, not away. The man is getting off on this.

Just like Jared knew he would.

Abruptly Jared pulls back, and screws two fingers in with no warning whatsoever. Jensen squeals, arching his back, and Jared has to press even harder into his shoulder blades. "You stay down," Jared orders harshly, like he would an unruly dog. Jensen is whimpering like one, high and loud, as Jared screws his fingers in and out with little to no finesse. He breaks character a little to scissor them open, stretching the tight channel. The rapist would have no regard for the perks of a pleasant fingering. The rapist just wants a hole to fuck.

He adds a third finger before Jensen's ready. The noise he receives in return is ungodly, a querulous mixture of shame and pain and want. Jensen is shaking, bucking, twitching his hips, seemingly unsure of whether he wants in closer, or away. Jared rips his fingers out of Jensen like a truly impatient man would, wincing when Jensen strains against him and howls.

"Just you wait, pretty little hole," Jared croons, undoing his pants, making sure that Jensen hears the drag of the zipper over the harsh sobs leaving his throat. Jared is only half-hard, since rape is really not his thing, but he lubed up before he started out this evening and it only takes a few gratuitous tugs before he's back in the game. It helps reminding himself that Jensen really is enjoying this -- he has only to glance down, where the meager light reveals a throbbing erection swinging between Jensen's legs.

He rolls a condom on, sick squelch perfectly audible. Jensen tenses with a whine, and Jared smooths the hand on the small of his back down between his shoulder blades again. It's an awkward position, legs straining, chest pressed to Jensen's back -- he wonders if he'll be able to get enough torque to fuck properly like this.

Jensen, beneath him, is breathing heavily, and after Jared listens a moment he realizes each breath is a quiet sob. Jared feels another twinge of doubt, and has to remind himself that this right here is all Jensen has talked about for the past eight months. "Shh," he says, "not too long now," and he positions the head of his cock at Jensen's entrance.

"No --" Jensen whimpers, but it turns into a long, dragged out groan when Jared pushes inside. Jared works his hips in sharp little circles, working toward balls deep. He's not a small man, to say the least, and briefly he wonders if Jensen has ever taken a cock this big.

Then he remembers the story about the fisting toy, the one that almost had him coming in his pants beneath the desk when Jensen told him how he'd had to work it in slowly. How it felt, taking up all that space inside him.

Jensen took that thing. He can take this.

_ "Fuck _ , but you're tight," Jared hisses, and Jensen lets out another groan in reply. Jared knows he has to start moving, knows the rapist he's playing would, so he grits his teeth and ignores the urge to ask if Jensen's okay, if he can move. He just does. Draw out, and Jensen sucks in a ragged breath -- punch back in and Jensen shrieks, sliding, his face rubbing raw against the van's cheap carpeting. Back and forth, that fine-milled skin turning redder and redder with every thrust. Jared knows. He knows what's happening to Jensen as he fucks him. Jensen's described it plenty of times.

So Jared rears back as far as he's able, grabs a double handful of Jensen's hips, and plows into him as hard as he can. He fucks quickly, mindlessly, like he never thought he could, not with anyone. He's never been this rough with a partner. He never knew he needed the freedom to be, either. 

Apparently, Jensen isn't the only one who needed to lose control.

Jensen is so vocal, so tight and hot and brilliant beneath him that Jared forgets what he's doing here and just lets go. He starts muttering under his breath, can't even hear what he's saying over the slaps of their skin and Jensen's wails. He buries his cock again and again, reveling in the way Jensen clenches around him, the slick of Jensen's sweat standing out on his skin where Jared's grabbing him.

All at once, Jensen tenses and screams, his hole clenching around Jared with no rhythm, even tighter. He's coming completely untouched, Jared realizes, and it's a shock to his system, jolting him into blinding orgasm. He falls over Jensen's back and shakes, shuddering out of his skin with a groan.

He's just coming back to himself when the back of the van flies open, and rough hands yank him away from Jensen, out of Jensen; they both cry out.

"Police!" Male voices are shouting. "Hands on your fucking head, dirtbag!" Boots are kicking Jared, gut and back and ribs. One connects with his groin and he can't even cry out, all of his air just gone.

Someone is cuffing his hands together behind his head.

He can't breathe. Flashlights dart around, illuminating the ground, the van, the officers' feet, and the whole scene is tinged in flashing blue and red.

He hears Jensen's voice through all if it. "No," the man is saying. "No!"

"Son, we need to check you out, and make sure --"

"Get your hands off me!" Jensen snarls, and that's not right. Jared struggles to breathe, to sit up somehow. Jensen sounds distraught, and that's not right.

Someone shoves him back down. "You have the right to remain silent," they begin, but familiar bare knees hit the pavement beside Jared. Jensen's barking, "Stop!"

"Sir, this man was engaged in illicit sexual --"

"It was consensual!" Jensen interrupts, clearly irritated.

"What?" the cop asks. He sounds very confused. "He had you pinned in the back of a van."

Jared, just as confused as the cop, cranes his head around to see them both. Jensen, kneeling beside him, is wrapped in a shock blanket and staring down at him fondly. One side of his face is rubbed raw, there are tear tracks coursing all down his cheeks, but he's smiling.

Blinking, Jared stares back. He -- Jensen -- he _knew?_

"I said, it was consensual," Jensen repeats softly, adding, "it wasn't rape. It was counseling."

 

 

~fin

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: "As Jensen's psychiatrist, Jared knows all of Jensen's darkest, deepest secrets, including his fantasies about getting tied up and raped. After weeks and weeks of listening to Jensen's detailed desires, Jared can't stand it anymore and decides to make Jensen's dream come true, blindfolds him, ties his arms behind his back and fucks the hell out of him in the back of a van. Bonus points if Jensen knows it's Jared the whole time."
> 
> Rape fantasies and non-con in general aren't really my thing, so I had to go for the bonus points. This is also the first RPF I've ever written. I'm actually surprised at how smoothly it went. Thanks to the OP for the inspiration, and thank you for reading!
> 
> If you liked this, please consider leaving kudos/a comment. I really appreciate feedback. ♥


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